​Coexistence throughout the course of summer:
From distances,
there’s power to approximate me on these roads
as it doubles my vision and
links me to the private signs
existing in hidden languages
mutable, or unspoken.

The body of her laughter emerges from the room
from here to the bridge,
I hear a man’s voice of fable intentions embroidering
​figures in the tapestry of flames
it burns creation where it can be dreamt again.

Beloved in memory my angels are veiled and
frozen by widows who mourn death,
I have been with them.

I do not know anything but that slow
fall aurora over the world and
all the things my love contemplates;
lilies beneath pillow dreams
when rain sounds and
images peek into
all the beings who once were trees.
There is only a day given to me,
a brush stroke,
a turn from pain.
I cross my heart and her blessed fingers
cover mine with serenity.

In the morning;
It’s calm and quiet
everything’s covered in white,
colour of the gloria.
A hoop’s no longer tethered by its strings
It hangs lifeless, broken and disconnected.

In the afternoon;
The sun and me — I wait,
I try to speak to
shoveling men shoveling
forever dirt, where neglected plants
die in their frequency.
A dimension with mysterious energies.

At night,
stars swim like fish
endless in a cloudless sky,
a train derails between the dandelions and grass fields.
Where are the principles of peace?
Sureallism surrounds my heart,
woven in filament silk.

Shore, sand, and water creased by waves.
A kingdom with souls that vibrate.

I remember my moment and our
surprise as we rotated between what you assumed were
derisory drawings, bad poems and loves that were rotten.
Travelling from one side of an immovable leaning on the table.

Many varieties of orchids
climbed trunks, hanging like grapes from the highest branches,
clouds of white butterflies covered the ground and
the birds of iridescent feathers filled the air.
Your voice was a delicious mango’s juice; a pulp infusion of herbs,
it refreshed me,
it made me smile,
it made me laugh,
a serenade under my window
wandering in the four winds of the heart’s home.
My dream hides faithful to the wind, sun, clouds and stars of my heart.

With my hand at my waist
the outside is compact and light
bitterness flies; words lost in the air become fruit,
the clear sun for flight,
a circle of images highlight the hour’s slow pace
burnt in rhythm to find the heart
where secret spaces make dreams.

To touch wings
locked together,
to see joy in the deep water
illuminated with colour,
salty eyes and fire,
the wind fluttering,
the highest flight
light as birds,
April speaks; her lips a young naked sound through the air.

rising on homes, carrying tales of bells
with distinct rings; I turn my back
so death won’t take my soul … like those

old abandoned buses lying in a caressing,
cold crevasse, watched over by

a stream of crosses resurrected on
mountainsides, playing tag as you
pass by.

El Diablo sinking his limbs and horns into red clay,
ready to give a slight nudge into
unforgiving, but loving arms of trees.

When no-one wants to claim you, only to
keep you as a trophy for their lost day,

landscapes can embody space, giving
it life, a personality.

*Excerpt from Diario Despertar de Oaxaca
El “Espinazo del Diablo”, leyenda mixteca:
Indeed, they found the wounded dying, and a bus turned over the precipice, over three thousand meters, with more than 30 people dead and at least two seriously injured, who testified that a beautiful woman with long hair made the driver stop and caused him distress.
Thus began the accident in the “Devil’s Backbone,” unquantifiable in all forms.
You can still see the remains of some buses overturned and traces of where they tried to cross the road to inform people and Mixtec communities.
On top of the hill is a chapel of the Virgen de Guadalupe, there are pictures of the Virgin of Juquila and a number of crosses, witnessing the misfortunes that occurred in the “Devil’s Backbone.”